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Then and Now, 1967

We look back to a review by David Gallagher of The Time of the Hero by Mario Vargas Llosa, translated by Lysander Kemp

Published: 14 November 2012

T
his review was first published in the TLS of September 28, 1967.

Mario Vargas Llosa’s impressive first novel was reviewed in the original in
the TLS of January 9, 1964. It is the story of how, in a Military Academy in
Lima, Peru, a pupil is chosen by his gang to steal the chemistry examination
papers, how a former mate “squeals” on him to obtain a Saturday pass, and
how he in turn is shot in the back during training manoeuvres, possibly by
accident, possibly as a reprisal. The Military Academy provides a handy
microcosm of Peruvian society – probably the most racially unstable and
socially unjust in Latin America – because the cadets come from every walk
of Peruvian life.

On arrival the cadets, as in most schools, are quick to categorize each other
with cruel exactness, racially and socially – “whitey”, “Negro”, zombo (a
mixture of Indian and Chinese), “peasant” – and with regard to their
physical attributes – the principal characters in the book are known as the
Slave, the Jaguar, the Boa (who usually comes out top in the masturbation
contests) and the Poet. They are further identified socially by means of
flashbacks which interrupt the narrative and divert it away from the school,
to the slums, or to the luxurious suburbs of Miraflores. And Señor Vargas
Llosa takes a close look at the military mind. In Latin America the military
is a class on its own – it shoots itself into power when it chooses to.

More than a social microcosm, however, the Leoncio Prado Military Academy is
quite simply a remarkably brutal institution, and it reflects that
specifically Latin American obsession, machismo, whereby to conform to the
stereotypes of “manhood” is the only respectable ideal, entailing the
blazoning of physical strength and a contempt for the intellect: not once is
it suggested, for instance, that anyone makes much intellectual progress at
this school.

Señor Vargas Llosa investigates the brutality imposed on the cadets in lurid
detail, but he leaves no doubt about its authenticity; in their first year,
for example, students are subjected to initiation ceremonies by their
seniors. Apart from being beaten up, they are forced to drink urine, or, if
they are lucky, “cocktails” of gum grease, oil and soap. Despite this kind
of thing, though, they are never thoroughly dehumanized – there is something
very impressive in the way they cling to their rigorous code of loyalty, the
betrayal of which causes the novel’s final tragedy. Señor Vargas Llosa knows
how to tell a story enthrallingly (one of his merits is that he is wholly
unpretentious), to let the facts speak for themselves. He knows how to keep
up an effectively hectic suspense, though occasionally he slips into
melodrama. Thus while it may be legitimate to intrigue the reader by keeping
some of the flashbacks in an anonymous first person, so that one is not
always sure which cadet’s background is being illuminated, it is
disappointingly implausible to discover towards the end that three of the
cadets have in fact been mooning over the same girl.

Adolescence is also the theme of the novella Los cachorros (“The Pups”), Señor
Vargas Llosa’s latest book (since The Time of the Hero, he has also written
an “epic” novel embracing all “three Perus” – the untamed jungle, the Indian
sierra and the urbanized coast). Los cachorros is about how a ten-year-old
boy’s sexual prospects are destroyed, when a Great Dane takes a bite at his
vital organs in the school showers. Cuellar was a model student, excellent
at his lessons but not despised by his classmates (the school here is very
different from the Military Academy; it is run by relatively civilized
priests). Having trained furiously during the vacation, he had expanded his
muscles sufficiently to qualify as inside left in his class’s football team.
But then the accident occurs after a practice game, and his friends start
calling him Pichulita, the Peruvian name for the damaged organ. The name
sticks, spreads to the suburb in which he lives. Later on, his friends start
looking for girls and, although there is the hope that an operation might
improve his chances, he is forced to project an image of mystery and
independence so that the girls will not suspect his impotence. He takes to
drink, crashes cars and astounds his friends with his bravery at riding the
waves. But as others marry and settle down, he disintegrates.

As in The Time of the Hero Señor Vargas Llosa conveys the problems of
adolescence sensitively and authentically, and is particularly good on that
curious world of Latin American bourgeois adolescence moulded by the ideals
of Mexican romance films, and featuring fat, middle-aged prostitutes and
chaperoned girl friends. But Los cachorros reads a little as if the author
is keeping his hand in while preparing for a greater work. This may explain
the slightly self-indulgent narrative technique, whereby in a single
sentence the narrator flutters about from omniscience to the first person
plural.

MARIO VARGAS LLOSA
The Time of the Hero
Translated by Lysander Kemp
409pp. Cape. 30s.

Los cachorros.
105pp. Barcelona: Editorial Lumen. 300 ptas.

To read more from the TLS archive for free, see this
selection from Then and Now.